The Fire
by bloodywingtips
Summary: "I pretend, for the moment, that he’s alive and well, whose shoulder my head was on, whose lips were pressed against my temple, whose voice murmured comforting words in my ear, pretend that everything was well, like those days in front of the Fire"
1. Chapter 1: Confusion

**Disclaimer: I own nada. Not the song, not the characters, nor the books. **

* * *

Goodbye to You 

_Of all the things I've believed in_

_I just wanna get it over with_

* * *

            I sat in front of the Common Room fire, staring at it, listening to the crackling, inhaling its intoxicating scent.

God, I miss you.

We were always like this.  We always sat in front of the fire for hours every night, talking. Or not. It didn't really matter. We reveled in each other's company.

Those were the Dark Days. They seemed to stretch out forever, and we had to be "constantly vigilant" as Alastor Moody put it. Looking back, though, that period didn't take more than a hundredth of my life. 

That time—it was utterly horrible. I didn't have anyone. There wasn't anyone to trust, not even my family, especially Percy. They could have been under the Imperial Curse. I really didn't know. All I had was Harry, and the Order. 

And You.

I had You.

And, those times, I used to think that I could lose everything—absolutely everything—but suffer no consequences as long as You were here, as long as We existed.

That thought of Us drove me, kept me alive, kept me sane when the times got hard, and all I wanted to do was to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower. I knew that I wouldn't, that I would never, as long as you were there, and you would need me.

Every relationship has had its haven. Ironically, ours was when the entire Wizarding World was about to break out in hell.

In front of the fire, we used to talk about the future, about what we would do when the war would be over. We discussed marriage, and children, and everything anyone could imagine. We made our guests' seating arrangements, presuming that they were still alive by then. But we pretended that all was well, and there wasn't a war, taking place just outside the school boundaries. We always smiled, and always tried to be optimistic, though we were fully aware that being so would cost us dearly.

The war finally ended, and, not long after, so did We. I don't know why, exactly. I know that I loved You, and I probably always would, but the Fall changed something between Us, it made us drift apart somehow, a product of, I suppose, pain and loss. I lost my father and Percy, and you lost your parents. Depression overcame us, I guess. And, the period after the Fall, we mourned, and nothing more.

We didn't break up, not really. We just started seeing each other less and less, and talking became less frequent. Harry…well, Harry had his own life to manage, and his own girlfriend (my sister) to comfort. He lost Remus during the war, but I reckon Remus wanted to go, anyway. Couldn't imagine how the bloke gets by with that kind of pain every month.

We drifted apart, but I never stopped loving you. I never would. I don't want to.

But sometimes, I imagine what it would be like if I did. There would be less pain, less sleepless nights, less tears shed for what already was, but couldn't be.

The temptation exists, and I waver on the scale. Yet, I've gone this far without succumbing to it. I don't know if I truly don't want to let you go, or if I just can't.

* * *

 _Tears form behind my eyes, but I do not cry_

_Counting the days that passed me by._

* * *

            The Fall has cost me more than I could pay in a lifetime. I lost two members of my family. I lost several friends, and allies. I lost my mentor in the Order. But, most of all, I lost You.

            If there was anything that the War has taught me, it was to be strong. And, among men, strength was measured by how much you could take before you broke down completely. 

            And I never did.

            It's been a _year_, and yet, I've never cried. 

            The war left me cold, somehow. It left me unfeeling, immune to the pains of the world.

            I was jaded, and nothing could ever hope to make me feel.

            That is, except for you.

I ached for you constantly, months after the Fall.

            And that scared me.

* * *

_I've been searching deep down in my soul._

_Words that I'm hearing are starting to get old._

_Feels like I'm starting all over again_

_The last three years were just pretend._

* * *

            Since I realized I've lost you (and somehow, I am ashamed to admit that I haven't immediately), I didn't try to get you back, or to give it a shot. You were mourning, and you were sad, and I knew that I couldn't penetrate the walls of emotion put up by a distraught 'Mione.

            I have to keep reminding myself that I couldn't call you 'Mione anymore. I know that you're not restricting me, or anything, but the name carries so much more than your image. The name isn't only yours. 

            It was ours.

            The name 'Mione brings to memory cold school nights by the fire, those summer days in the Burrow when we would frolic around in the meadows and bask in the warm rays of the sun. 'Mione brings the joy and warmth in me that I thought could never exist, but did.

            The name 'Mione brings the comfort I don't deserve.

            I'll have to start over. Even if it doesn't particularly thrill me, those moments would have to cease existing. I have to move on, and when I do, I know that you'd want me to, too, if we actually took time to sit and talk a bit, like friends who catch up, like we used to, and not like we are burdened by the other.

            I understand that, at some point, you would refuse to let me go. I know you love me, and I hope that you know that I love you just as much, if not infinitely more. But, I also understand that what we had is over now. I couldn't explain it, couldn't hope to try. I just know, deep in my gut, the fat lady has long finished her song.

            It's done.

* * *

_And I still get lost in your eyes_

_And it seems that I can't live a day without you._

* * *

            I swore to myself that I would move on, and do whatever it takes to forget you (even if I couldn't, and didn't particularly want to). I knew that it was for the best of us. I couldn't do much help for you, couldn't provide the comfort you need; I am in dire need of comforting myself. I suppose I'm being what they term as _The Crappy Boyfriend_, but I had my reasons, and even now, I fail to understand what they really are. I just knew, in my gut, that when I learn to move on, everything would be all right.

            Accidentally, when I was cleaning up the stuff under my bed, I saw your picture. It was the one we took over the summer, with the muggle camera, with the lens zoomed close to you, and your face in the most radiant of all smiles. And I saw your eyes. 

            I've always loved your eyes. 

            Your eyes portrayed so much depth, character, life…so much…Hermione, that I was often left breathless just looking into them.

            This case was no different. Your eyes shone with an internal light, a beautiful kind of glow. They danced around mirthfully and laughed. They sparkled in your brilliance, hinting that you're quite the contrary of how you look, intelligence-wise. But most of all, I saw the love in them, directed to the one who took the photo.

            Directed to me.

            And, that moment when I realized that those eyes shone for me, every single memory came crashing down on me in heartbreaking torrents. They swam around, plagued my mind, and took over.

            And, finally, for the first time in over two years, since the Rising, I cried.

            I cried because you weren't there.

            I cried because I knew that those eyes still held some love for me.

            And I cried because I knew that I couldn't live without you.

            But I had to.

* * *

_Closing my eyes, and you chase the thoughts away_

_To the place where I am blinded by the light_

* * *

            That night, I slept. I slept, and the demons that ordinarily chased me through my dreams weren't there. They have disappeared, and I've had the worst nightmare I've had since the Rising. 

            I dreamt of you. And in my dream, we were frolicking around in the meadows by the Burrow, chasing butterflies and each other, as we always did. The sun shone on our backs, and you laughed your gleeful laugh, and we kissed like we used to, long and slow and sweet, like we always did, those days. Qualms were nonexistent. All that was were Us.

            And the sun shone once more, blinding me in its light.

* * *

_But it's not right._

* * *

            Insanity, as expected, ensued. I spent every day and night awake, just to avoid dreaming again. I never want to see that scene, to feel the way I did. 

            Even if it felt like absolute heaven.

            If I were to move on, I would move on right.

* * *

_And it hurts to want everything and nothing at the same time._

_I want what's yours and I want what's mine._

_I want you, but I'm not giving in this time._

* * *

            I still love you, Hermione. I still hunger for those days in my dream, when we would play by the meadows and laugh throughout the daytime, and sit by the fire, and talk quietly at night.

            And, at some degree, I know that I will never have that again. I never could.

            Remember that, Hermione. I love you, I still want you.

            I don't want to dwell on the past.

            And You, and Us…that's my past.

* * *

_Goodbye to you_

_Goodbye to everything I thought I knew._

_You were the one I loved_

_The one thing that I've tried to hold on to._

* * *

            I love you Hermione. Just…bear that in mind. Bury it in some lost corner of your soul, so it would never leave you, even if you would forget.

            Remember the War, and how I've held on, struggling to stay alive despite the numerous brushes with death. I stayed alive for you.

I just thought I'd tell you this, even if I'm well aware that you couldn't hear me. I suppose you've gotten the gist from the things I've been saying over and over, but this is how I'd say goodbye.

            I thought that it would grant me some closure, at least, if I try to pretend that you were here, listening to what I have to say, nodding, regardless of your own opinion. 

            But you're not here.

* * *

_And when the stars fall I will lie awake_

* * *

            For some reason, even if I'm here, in front of the fire, an image of you flashes before my eyes. 

            I see you, with the sun setting on the horizon behind you, and the clouds crown your head in the most sorrowful of all crowns.

            You're holding a rose, and your finger is bleeding, most likely from a thorn.

            You're crying.

            You open your mouth, and you speak, but I don't hear words. They somehow play around in my mind, in strangely soft, uncontainable echoes.

            "You left me, Ron," you said in a flat, deadened sort of voice that gives one the impression that you've done more than your share of suffering. "You left me, and for a while, I hated you for it. For a while, I've blamed myself, and then you, and then Him. But the whole time, I never stopped loving you."

            I sat, confused.

            "And, after all this time, Ron, I am ready to let you go."

            I squeezed my eyes shut, and slowly opened them.

            And images swirled, and mixed, and settled. I was seated on a tombstone in the cemetery, and you were kneeling in front of me.

            I saw the tombstone.

            Everything faded from sight.

            And I understood.

            I cried out, tried to speak, tried to tell you how much I love you, and that I'd be waiting for you, but my cries became nothing more than a breeze that barely ruffled your hair.

* * *

_You're my shooting star._

* * *

            You smiled sadly, and murmured, "I know."

            The fire blazed on, in one solitary corner of my mind, and for the last time, even in my mind's eye, I saw Us.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this is my first R/Hr fic, and I find it rather crappy, really, but I just wanted to give it a shot. **

**The ending was supposed to be some sort of closure thing, but this one occurred to me at the last moment, so I decided to go with it. It's sort of _The Others_-ish, I think. I've never really seen the movie, my friends only told me about it. You know, about ghosts not knowing that they're dead, and they continue to live their lives as if they were still alive, but they really aren't? I'm not sure if it's _The Others_ or if it's _The Sixth Sense._ Whatever.**

**Review, please.******


	2. Chapter 2: Moving On

Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn. 

A/N: Sorry if this took long. I know that no one was really expecting a sequel to The Fire, but I wanted to do it, for Abforth. Yeah, this is dedicated to you. I hope that this one lives up to the first chapter.

A/N2: And, I'd like to thank my reviewers. Thank you so much for making me feel better about that!

* * *

Hermione 

It's been a year. 

It's been a year since I last saw him.

A year, since I last saw his eyes, heard his laugh, and kissed his lips.

A year, since I've seen him alive.

It doesn't hurt as much now, since all that time has passed. I've used up all the pain I could possibly feel. Thinking of him, remembering him, no longer brings the sharp, shooting, pointedly piercing pains that come through the heart. All that's left—all that could be left—is a dull, throbbing ache that leaves me with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

I've become numb.

I visit him. Every night. If he could see me now, he'd probably tease me mercilessly about how much it would take for him to tear me away from my homework.

I'd visit him, lean my head on his stone, and I talk to him. I tell him everything that happened, everything that goes through my head, and I pretend, for the moment, that he's alive and well, whose shoulder my head was on, whose lips were pressed against my temple, whose voice murmured comforting words in my ear, not the stone, not the wind, and not the night. I would pretend that everything's fine, and normal, like those days we had, in front of the Fire.

That made me smile. 

I can't remember. 

I can't remember the last happy thing that's happened to me since—since he—

Oh, God, I can't say it.

I can't bring myself to say the one thing that's been shoving itself up my face for a year now. 

I couldn't say it. I couldn't admit it to myself, because admittance would bean acceptance, and acceptance would make everything seem more…real, somehow. 

I'm not ready for that.

I'm still not ready, after a year. 

It couldn't be, when all that we had, all that was, still exists.

When I still have the Fire.

I still have, right here, blazing in front of me, late nights and homework stacks and wedding plans and insomnia attacks, and midnight trysts, and chess games, and lazy afternoons and tons and tons and tons of the essence of Ron. A thousand little details about him I've never paid attention to in the past, a thousand little details I've taken for granted. Now, they haunt me.

I curled myself up, pulled my knees to my chest. _No, Hermione…_

And, I still can't let it go. Not when it intoxicates me, drowns me in comfort.

_No. Don't.  _

How can you give up comfort when doing so would leave you in the coldest, most desolate state?

_Stop it. _

No. No reality. Not yet. Not now. I'm not…

"Herm?"

My head snapped up. "Oh. Hi, Harry." I motioned for him to sit beside me, by the Fire, by the symbol of comfort and love and beauty. 

He sat, and looked at me with his worn eyes. "What are you doing here?"

It took a few moments for those words to register. _"What are you doing here?"_ Ron asked me that, that night when he saw me here, slaving over my homework, because my roommates refused to leave the lights on for me. That was the first Fire Night. 

I shook my head, to clear my thoughts. _Not now_. 

I stared into the Fire. "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't bear staying in that room."

He nodded. "I know what you mean."

A comfortable silence enveloped us, and I willingly sank into it, surrendered myself to the comfort that welcomed me. Ron and I used to sit like this before he—

"Stop it."

Harry looked at me. "Want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. 

He shrugged. 

I stared at the Fire some more, until I thought that I would go insane with the quiet.

"Make me okay, Harry," I blurted, pleading. "Tell me that everything will be all right, everything will be back to normal. Please."

He blinked. "I wish I could," he said quietly, the Fire flickering off his eyes. "I'm not even sure if I would ever get past this," he said, flicking at the carpet. "I lost my best friend."

            We stayed silent again.__

            Suddenly, all those nights I've spent crying, when I've stayed wide-awake in bed, feeling alone and cursed, they caught up with me. The fatigue finally caught up, and all I wanted to do was to sleep. Sleep will help me. I can escape in my dreams. 

            But, no.

            I can still see him. For the briefest second, when I blink my eyes, his face appears from inside my eyelids, and I see his smile and his eyes, and from some distant corner, I hear his laugh. Even the briefest moment of rest…he haunts me. I can't escape the reality that the one thing I want could never be mine.

            Ever.

            "I can't take this anymore," I murmured to the Fire, hugging my knees even close to my chest. 

            Harry finally looked up from the Fire, and looked at me, some sort of sad light forming in his eyes. "Yes, I know what you mean," he nodded slowly. "It _is_ hard—knowing that we have to go through our lives, each day—knowing that he's not here. Knowing that he never will be. Knowing that he doesn't have a life to go through anymore."

            I nodded. "Then, there's us," I said, still fixated on the Fire. "How do we get by? Will it always be this way? Will the sorrow ever end, Harry? Will I ever feel whole again? Will I ever move on? Will _we?_" I looked in his eyes, feeling myself, once again, nearly falling beyond the borders of helplessness and insanity.

            And, when I saw his eyes, I instantly regretted asking him all of my questions. He didn't need this now. He didn't need someone to barge in and start breaking down everything he's worked so hard to build. Yes, the Boy-Who-Lived has only one goal now: He wanted to move on. He wanted to feel again, without feeling the pain. His eyes were dull, devoid of the light and humor they used to possess, and reminded me strongly of green liquid metal. They frightened me, somewhat. 

            But, he seemed unfazed. "Ron wouldn't want us to worry about him," he said slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully. "He'd want us to go on with our lives because, he'd say, he's not worth this much bloody fuss."

            "You know what I'm afraid of?" I asked Harry rhetorically, after a moment's pause.

            "Herm," he said quietly, firmly, looking at me in the eye. "Listen to me. There's nothing to fear, all right? Nothing could go wrong. I know it's hard to move on, okay? I'm still there. I'm not ready to, not yet. I feel that I still have to mourn for him. I've mourned too much, in my life, but I still have to. For him. Maybe you do, too. Just remember this, okay? Don't weigh yourself down. If you think it's time to move on, then do. Don't waste time trying to save what couldn't exist anymore, anyway. You hear me?"

            I nodded. "It's just that—" I choked, and felt the tears well up in my eyes, finally, after months of cold, "moving on would mean forgetting him. And, Harry, I don't want to forget him."

            Harry's eyes softened, and they shone with the tears that he never shed, the tears he couldn't shed, and he pulled me in a hug, rocked me back and forth.

            "Shh…shh…" he coaxed quietly, rubbing my back as I finally released all the pain and anguish that pent up inside since the Vengeance. "You won't forget him, Herm," he said gently. "You never will. Somewhere in that great ole mind of yours (he tapped my head playfully) is a whole section dedicated to Ronald Weasley, to the Ronald Weasley we used to know."

            After that, I found more comfort and retreated to my room, and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought. 

            I miss being called 'Mione. I miss those nights when we would sit there, comfortable in each other's company, those nights when we would quarrel like mad. 

            I miss him.

            And, maybe, yes. I need to mourn some more, too.

            And, I'll move on. I would. When I could.

            A small, hardly noticeable breeze wafted along and ruffled my hair, the same way Ron used to in those Days.

            I smiled sadly. "I love you, too."

* * *

**A/N3: Does that seem worthy of being a sequel? I personally think not, but I don't have anyone to proofread my stuff for me. Anyway, tell me what you think. I'm up for suggestions and constructive criticism. Thanks!**

**A/N4: I _swear_ that I'll shut up after this final one: If you've noticed, I gave a lot of detail on Harry's eyes. Sorry about that. If you're wondering, no, I'm not turning this into an H/Hr thing. I just have a fascination for his eyes, that's all. See my fic, An Old Man's Eyes (geez, talk about shameless promoting!)**


	3. Author's Note

Let's cut to the chase, now, shall we?  
  
I'm not one of those 'thank your reviewers individually' types of person. But, since I love your feedback, I suppose it's only proper for me to at least thank you all personally.  
  
I'd like to thank you all for reading 'The Fire'. I can't remember exactly, how the story occurred to me. All I remember is a Michelle Branch CD and an abnormally long battery lifespan. It was supposed to be something sad, but could be resolved, like, they broke up, and Hermione ran off with some guy or whatever, but, the story would just echo what several hundred stories have already said.  
  
I don't have much faith in my writing, especially now, when I'm going through this identity crisis, and I'm doubting my so-called skill, the one I've been putting to use for years now. The only fic I wrote that I actually like is 'Shadows in my Head', the Draco POV. It's the fic that I really got into. Anyway, I'd like to thank you all for at least encouraging me.  
  
Another is that, I'm toying with the idea of writing a prequel of sorts, you know, how Ron died, and everything. I'm working out the little kinks in the story, and I'm trying to make it consistent with 'The Fire'. It would be set apart from the whole thing, and it would probably be chaptered, so please wish me luck on this. I never really was good with chaptered fics.  
  
On to the reviews:  
  
Nina: Thanks. I wanted it to come off that way.  
  
Sparkleygem: That wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting. But, crying's good, right? Thanks for getting into it, though.  
  
Abforth: Fate, or coincidence? LoL Anyway, I sincerely hope that this fic made you feel better, even a little bit. And, thank you for confirming the genuineness (sounds so awkward, doesn't it?) of the emotions. I'm not very familiar with how it feels to have someone you love die; I haven't experienced it yet. And, thank you for the vote of confidence. I wouldn't have come up with a sequel without you and your review. I'm glad that you enjoyed it.  
  
Leeuwin: "Goodbye to You" once became my Song of the Week. My favorite Michelle Branch tune would have to be 'Something to Sleep to', but I couldn't imagine Ron and Hermione acting to that.  
  
Goddess: (*blushes*) Gee. thank you. Your review actually left me speechless. Thanks. And, yes. I'll email you when I come up with some new material. Thanks for the support.  
  
Tears from the Moon: I don't want to come off as sadistic, or anything, but I'm glad. And, to be honest, I seriously considered turning it into an H/Hr, or a D/Hr, but, besides the fact that several hundred readers would gladly boil me alive for doing so, it just didn't seem appropriate for Harry and Hermione to get together, especially if they're Really. Good. Friends.  
  
MeliFlames: Well, I'm not really a shipper, but I'd gladly read and review for you, when I have the time. I'm kinda loaded at the moment. But, I will. And, if you need anything, just email me, okay?  
  
Scarlet Shooting Star: Thanks for clarifying. And, yes. I think that we all need to cry a bit, no? 


End file.
